Fart Squad (5 page)

“W
elcome to Fart Boot Camp!” Stan greeted them.

The janitor used his keys to let them into the school. Darren usually hung out with Andy on Saturdays. He felt bad about ditching his friend on a weekend, especially after Andy had volunteered to help Darren with his report, but Stan had sworn the entire “Fart Squad” to secrecy. According to him, the fewer people who knew about them, the better.

Stan had set up the gym to be a secret training center, with padded wrestling mats and even a trampoline in place. A tray of freshly microwaved burritos waited on top of a wheeled cart. Stan must have raided the lunchroom freezer. Darren tried not to think about how old the burritos might be.

“Time to power up!” Stan said. “Dig in!”

Walter, Juan-Carlos, and Tina helped themselves to the greasy “fuel,” but Darren held back. He was having second thoughts about this whole Fart Squad business. True, superfarts might come in handy from time to time. But now that his flaming farts were starting to cool off a little, he was reminded of how nice it feels to have a burn-free butt.

“Who wants to go first?” Stan asked.

Juan-Carlos volunteered. “Just watch me, boys and girl. I'm cookin' with gas!”

He paused, waiting for a laugh that failed to come.

“Gas, get it?” he asked.

“I'm sure they did, Juan-Carlos. You can work on your comedy later,” Stan said. “Or not,” he added under his breath. Stan marked an
X
on the floor with chalk. “Why don't you plant a stink bomb here . . . and see if you can keep it from going off for a full ten seconds?”

“You bet,” Juan-Carlos said, taking his place on the
X
. He concentrated hard, then hurried away before the stink bomb went off. Stan took out a stopwatch. He counted down the seconds.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one . . .”

Nothing happened. Nobody heard or smelled anything nasty.

“You laid a dud, dude,” Walter teased. “To use the vernacular.”

“I farted, I swear,” Juan-Carlos insisted. “Cross my heart . . . and my butt!”

Stan strolled over to the
X
to investigate—just as a stink bomb went off—five seconds late. He was knocked off his feet by force of the fart.

“Whew!” he said. “That was a ripe one!”

Darren and Walter helped Stan to his feet. He wiped the tears from his eyes.

“I think you need a little more practice,” the janitor said. “Timing is everything, especially where farts are concerned!”

“Tell me about it,” Juan-Carlos said, blushing.

Tina raised her hand. “Let me go next, please.”

Juan-Carlos stepped aside. “Go for it, Tiny.”

“Tina,”
she corrected him. “Don't call me Tiny.”

“I don't know,” Juan-Carlos joked. “You look pretty tiny to—”

A silent fart knocked him out. He collapsed onto a mat.

Darren stared at the petite little princess. “That was an accident, right?”

“Totally,” she said sweetly. “Sorry.”

They all backed away from her, just to be safe. Stan had to dump a bucket of water over Juan-Carlos's head to wake him up.

Stan eyed Tina warily. She seemed so harmless, and yet . . .

“On second thought,” he said, “maybe we should
give Walter some flight practice now.”

Stan fitted Walter with a crash helmet and tied a safety rope around him so they could pull him back to earth if necessary. The rest of the squad helped push the trampoline to the center of the floor.

“All right,” Stan declared. “You're prepped for takeoff. Fart, fart, and away!”

Walter polished off another burrito, then let loose with a jet of gas that lifted him off the floor. For a moment, it looked like he was going to slam headfirst into the ceiling, but he changed course at the last second. He zipped around overhead like a hot-air balloon gone berserk.

“Try to control your flight,” Stan coached him. “Nice smooth circles!”

But Walter was spinning and looping and
zigzagging wildly above them. He grabbed frantically for a basketball hoop to anchor himself, but missed. Noisy farts propelled him every which way.

“Oh dear!” he shrieked. “I suspect I should not have indulged in that second burrito!”

Darren chased after the dangling safety rope. “Don't worry! We'll pull you down!”

He grabbed the rope, hoping to reel the flying kid in, but Walter's farts had more lift than he'd expected. Before he knew it, Darren took flight as well.

“Hang on, Darren!” Tina yelled. “Don't let go!”

She, Juan-Carlos, and Stan pushed the trampoline back and forth across the floor, trying to keep it
under their airborne friends. Darren gulped when he looked down and saw how far up he was.

“Get us down!” he yelled at Walter. “This is crazy!”

“I'm endeavoring to do just that!” Walter yelled.

The extra weight began to drag Walter down. Darren pulled himself up the rope so that more of it dangled below him. Stan and the other kids grabbed the rope and pulled Darren and Walter toward the trampoline. Darren waited until it was directly beneath him, then let go of the line.

“AAAAAAA!” he screamed as he fell.

He hit the trampoline and bounced off it onto the floor. The mats cushioned his crash landing . . . a little. His poor butt was going to be black and blue, on top of being burnt.

“Don't just sit there!” Tina called. “Help us get Walter down!”

Working together, Stan and the squad finally managed to tug Walter safely down. Juan-Carlos borrowed a barbell from the gym storeroom to weigh down Walter so that he wouldn't take off again.

“Don't be discouraged,” Stan told Walter. “You just need more practice.”

“Wonderful,” Walter said glumly. “I can scarcely wait.”

Now it was Darren's turn. Stan noticed that Darren hadn't tried the burritos yet.

“What's the matter, Darren?” the janitor asked gently. “Is there a problem?”

“I'm not sure about this,” Darren confessed.
“You don't realize how hot my farts get.”

“I'm not surprised,” Stan said. “You've always had plenty of energy to burn. But the Fart Squad needs you, Darren. You're a born leader. I can tell. Just look at how you rushed to help Walter earlier.”

Darren appreciated the pep talk, but he was still uneasy. “But what if my farts are too hot to handle?”

“All the more reason to find out just how scorching they can get,” Stan said. He wheeled the cart of burritos toward Darren. “These have gone cold. Let's see if you can reheat them.”

“Um, we're not going to have to eat them afterward, are we?” Juan-Carlos asked. “'Cause I think I'm allergic to fart-cooked food.”

“Don't worry,” Stan said. “There are plenty more where these came from.” He stuck a cooking thermometer into the cold burritos. “Go ahead, Darren. Bake those beans.”

Darren didn't want to let the others down. He forced down half a cold burrito and turned his backside toward the rest. His stomach started
gurgling right away. He felt the hot gas building inside his gut.